


Caged

by QuietlyImplode



Series: Rescue Me [15]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Natasha goes to therapy, Not graphic and more of a throw away but its there, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietlyImplode/pseuds/QuietlyImplode
Summary: Clint and Natasha go to therapy together._____“We touched last time, on the feeling of being held. You mentioned that the only time you felt comfortable being held, was in fact by Clint.” The therapist gestures her head towards him.Natasha grunts. Stopping her movement momentarily to look over apologetically to Clint. She’s regretting this.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov & Avengers Team
Series: Rescue Me [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984783
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Caged

Clint watches Natasha closely. They’re waiting outside the room for Natasha’s scheduled psych session where she’s asked him to come with her. He’s surprised and pleased that she trusts him enough to have him there, hear her secrets that as so carefully guarded. 

He knows her nervous tells. Most are trained out of her (he thinks the word trained but really he knows, it’s tortured; how else do you train little girls not to react to fear and anxiety?), she’s rubbing her index finger on her thumbnail, the minuscule movements belays stress, watching her face however shows nothing. He only knows because he’s watching for it.

They’re sitting outside the office when she reaches over and touches his hand.

“Thanks.” Natasha isn’t looking at him. Eyes looking to her lap. “You don’t have to come in, if you don’t want to.”

Shaking her hands out she grips the side of her chair; she knows her tells. She knows how to internalize all her feelings. Being in therapy must be hell. Like him, he knows she prefers to work it out in the gym, in a fight, through her work, anything but this. But continuing to work in a job like the theirs; triggers need to be worked through.

“No.” Clint says firmly, “I got you. I’m with you.” And then adds, just so she knows he knows. “This sucks.”

Natasha barks a laugh.

“Yes, it does.”

.

They’re called in and Natasha looks positively caged when the door shuts. She doesn’t sit; although she’s invited to by the kindly looking therapist.

Clint sits; pulls his chair out on an angle. He might be here for Natasha but he still likes a quick escape. Natasha begins pacing.

The therapist talks.

“We touched last time, on the feeling of being held. You mentioned that the only time you felt comfortable being held, was in fact by Clint.” The therapist gestures her head towards him.

Natasha grunts. Stopping her movement momentarily to look over apologetically to Clint. She’s regretting this.

“Do you want to talk about when being held feels restrictive? Or what it feels like for you, to be held down or restrained?”

Clint feels a bit shocked. He knows he shouldn’t, but the fact they’re getting right into it straight away, it feels confrontational and he’s put on the backfoot by how raw these sessions must be for her.

When she doesn’t respond, and begins to pace again, the therapist prompts; “do you want to do this like we did last time?”

Natasha nods, the most subtlest of movements.

“Ok. Relax your shoulders. Take a deep breath.”

By suggestion; Clint does the same - dropping tension he didn’t even know he had.

“You’re brave. You know your limits and you are able to recognise your..”

“Stop.”

Immediately the therapist stops. Natasha’s hands are gripping the back of the chair.

“That’s not true.” Natasha mirrors Clint, moving her chair on an angle and curls her body inside it. She looks tiny; not the force of nature that Clint knows.

“Tell me what’s not true, Natasha.”

“I’m not brave. I don’t know my limits. I’ll keep running into the wall headfirst until someone tells me to stop. They did that. They turned it off, any self protection I had; they stripped it and took away..” She sighs and stops.

“They did that too. Restraint has been a part of my life since I can remember.” She stops abruptly and closes her eyes.

“Natasha, remember; let the thoughts come; but let them go too. You’re here. You’re safe. Clint’s here. The air conditioning is on; and there’s a low hum coming from my computer. Tune into them.”

Clint finds himself following her words, he hears the air con whirring and he really hopes that Natasha does as well.

“Go back. Do you remember when you were first held down?” The question is open enough that it could be related to the mission or the past.

Natasha shakes her head.

“Tell me parts you do remember. Single words are ok,” the therapist waits; perhaps the worst thing about this is the silences and the expectation of vocalising hurt.

Clint doesn’t really expect Natasha to answer but she does. He wonders how many sessions in silence these two have had to break down these walls. Or even, how many sessions the therapist has just talked in. He’s never asked.

“Handcuffs.” That story he knows. It’s legend in shield dating back to Peggy Carter.

“Medical procedures.” Standard Red Room.

“Leg cuffs.”

“Men.” His stomach drops.

“I’d never had it around my neck before.” She admits. “Strangulation, sure, but never straps.”

She takes a halting breath. “In my nightmares now, it’s only around my neck. Everything else is free, but I can’t move. I can’t undo the lock, I can’t free myself. And no one comes.”

A shuddering breath comes, and he watches her put her hand to her head and rub her brow. Grounding, he notes. “I can’t wear anything that touches my neck, I can’t pull clothes over my head, I can’t even wear a goddamn necklace. You asked me to think about achievable goals. That would be it.”

The therapist nods, writes something down and speaks.

“What happens when you try?”

Natasha looks at the therapist. The looks that Clint hates being on the receiving end of, because it feels like Natasha is reading his mind and looking into his soul. The perception of power here, one would assume that the therapist has it but he knows; it’s Natasha. It’s always Natasha.

“What do you think?”

The words are scathing.

“Natasha, here are the things you need to sit with.

You are brave. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.” Clint finds himself nodding his head. He’s managed this far to be a fly on the wall but he needs her know that’s a sentiment he very much agrees with.

“Work on one of those things; it doesn’t have to be much - a button up top; one button closer to your neck, it could be a thin necklace that doesn’t feel like anything at all, it could be a sweater with a large head hole - maybe one of Clints?”

Clint sneaks a peak over towards her, he didn’t realise that she’d been exclusively wearing button up tops but now it makes sense why she didn’t cover the bruising - he took it as a sign of strength; carry your scars and wear them with pride. He feels she would see it as a sign of weakness; can’t cover it up because then she’d have to touch it.

“Our goal, Natasha, is not to root out all our triggers but to turn them into tools. Is there anything in there, you can try?”

Clint gets the feeling that this isn’t the only time that this question has been asked; and sheds some light on why he’s been privy to this appointment today. The slight dip of her head is affirmative.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, this time for Clint’s benefit too. When you’re working through it, and things are ok keep working. If you feel yourself stutter - take a break. If you’re having a tough time; frustrated or overwhelmed with yourself, remove yourself from the situation. Leave the room, find a different space, get a drink of cold water. Our goal is to protect yourself and stay safe,” the therapist takes a breath. “Make good choices. You’ve got yourself this far.”

Natasha gets up. Clint’s startled a bit by the sudden movement and he stands as well, on guard; concerned. He needn’t be, the session is apparent over. He moves to the door, holding it open for Natasha; who’s pausing.

“Thanks.” She mutters, before turning tail and bolting out.

——-


End file.
